Poor Janet was kneeling by the bed with her face buried in her hands. She almost wished her worst moment back again rather than this. It seemed as if her husband was already imprisoned in misery, and she could not reach him—his ear deaf for ever to the sounds of love and forgiveness. His sins had made a hard crust round his soul; her pitying voice could not pierce it.
‘Not there, isn’t she?’ he went on in a defiant tone. ‘Why do you ask me where she is? I’ll have every drop of yellow blood out of your veins if you come questioning me. Your blood is yellow ... in your purse ... running out of your purse ... What! you’re changing it into toads, are you? They’re crawling ... they’re flying ... they’re flying about my head ... the toads are flying about. Ostler! ostler! bring out my gig ... bring it out, you lazy beast . . . ha! you’ll follow me, will you? ... you’ll fly about my head ... you’ve got fiery tongues ... Ostler! curse you! why don’t you come? Janet! come and take the toads away ... Janet!’
This last time he uttered her name with such a shriek of terror, that Janet involuntarily started up from her knees, and stood as if petrified by the horrible vibration. Dempster stared wildly in silence for some moments; then he spoke again in a hoarse whisper:—
‘Dead ... is she dead? She did it, then. She buried herself in the iron chest ... she left her clothes out, though ... she isn’t dead ... why do you pretend she’s dead? ... she’s coming ... she’s coming out of the iron closet ... there are the black serpents ... stop her ... let me go ... stop her ... she wants to drag me away into the cold black water ... her bosom is black ... it is all serpents ... they are getting longer ... the great white serpents are getting longer ...’
Here Mr. Pilgrim came forward with the apparatus to bind him, but Dempster’s struggles became more and more violent. ‘Ostler! ostler!’ he shouted, ‘bring out the gig ... give me the whip!’—and bursting loose from the strong hands that held him, he began to flog the bed-clothes furiously with his right arm.
‘Get along, you lame brute!—sc—sc—sc! that’s it! there you go! They think they’ve outwitted me, do they? The sneaking idiots! I’ll be up with them by-and-by. I’ll make them say the Lord’s Prayer backwards ... I’ll pepper them so that the devil shall eat them raw ... sc—sc—sc—we shall see who’ll be the winner yet ... get along, you damned limping beast ... I’ll lay your back open ... I’ll ...’
He raised himself with a stronger effort than ever to flog the bed-clothes, and fell back in convulsions. Janet gave a scream, and sank on her knees again. She thought he was dead.
As soon as Mr. Pilgrim was able to give her a moment’s attention, he came to her, and, taking her by the arm, attempted to draw her gently out of the room.
‘Now, my dear Mrs. Dempster, let me persuade you not to remain in the room at present. We shall soon relieve these symptoms, I hope: it is nothing but the delirium that ordinarily attends such cases.’
‘Oh, what is the matter? what brought it on?’